


Alcohol

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Ficlet, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Sirius are too loud on New Years Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imera/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

The earth-shattering thump down stairs—probably someone drunk falling off a table—is the last straw for Regulus. He doesn’t _care_ if it’s New Years Eve. He needs to sleep or he’ll go crazy. Sirius is always crazy and doesn’t seem to get that.

Regulus throws the blankets off himself and steps into his slippers at the side of the bed, tugging his blue pajamas back into place. He feels for his door in the dark and then navigates his way down the hall, down the creaking stairs. The flickering glow of the living room lights his way, made easier by the steady din.

Regulus tries to think of what he’ll say the whole way over. He’ll have to be careful with his words, like always, because Sirius won’t listen to him. Sirius never does. Mother and Father said, “We’re going out for the week, absolutely no parties,” and Potter arrived not an hour after they left, Lupin and Pettigrew shortly after him. It’d be one thing if they were careful about it, but Sirius smuggled in so much Firewhiskey that it’s a wonder the Aurors haven’t been called. Regulus knows Pettigrew has left and figures the other two have by now too. Sirius is more than capable of making all this racket on his own.

But when Regulus steps into the living room, he finds James Potter sprawled out on the couch, in only jeans and a hazy expression. As soon as Regulus’ footsteps stop, Potter calls without looking, “Nah, that made it worse, Padfoot!”

Regulus glances at the strange, metallic-looking black box in the center of the room, with a glass-like screen covered in noisily crackling black-and-white dots. A bunch of thin wires stem out of it and trail out of the room—Regulus peers at them oddly. Must be a muggle thing.

“Hurry up! We’re gunna miss the ga—” Potter stops as he finally looks over, spotting Regulus still hovering in the doorway. Regulus figures he should turn around and leave now; he isn’t allowed to mix with Sirius’ friends, according to just about everyone.

Potter might be the only exception to that. He never politely shoos Regulus away like Lupin does, or ignores him like Pettigrew does, or spits an endless spew of insults at him, like Sirius does. If anything, Potter’s defended him once or twice—a true testament to what Regulus secretly finds not-so-bad about Gryffindors. Potter is just not-so-bad all over. He even helped Regulus get a ball off the roof once when Regulus was too little to fly, and then helped bandage him up once when he tripped and his parents weren’t around to use magic and Sirius was too mean to care.

As his big brother’s best friend, Potter has showed up a surprising amount in Regulus’ life, which is why it’s so ridiculous for him to now be suddenly tongue-tied. But then, it’s not entirely his fault. Potter is shirtless, after all, and his Quidditch practice definitely shows. As he sits up, each one of his muscles stretches across his tight chest, his six-pack slightly aglow in the unnatural light from the muggle contraption. He’s got a muggle beer in one hand, (another thing Regulus is never allowed to be a part of) and a strange, black rectangular thing with buttons in the other, which he casually tosses aside.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, sounding inebriated but otherwise nice. “Did we wake you up?”

“It’s okay,” Regulus says instantly, despite how much it was not okay a few minutes ago.

Potter nods and makes a vague hand gesture, like he’s waving Regulus over. But he couldn’t be waving Regulus over. Regulus tentatively peers around the room, confirming it’s Sirius-free. “Sirius’ bein’ an idiot,” Potter mumbles. “Trying to put a satellite on the roof—I keep expecting him to fall past the window.” He pats the couch beside himself and gestures again, before rubbing at his tired-looking eyes. “C’mere—we’re gonna watch muggle sports and shit. You can watch with us.”

“Oh, I don’t...” Regulus trails off. Potter’s obviously drunker than he looks, because they should both know that Sirius wouldn’t be okay with that. But Regulus can’t stop his feet from moving anyway. It’s hard to say no to your childhood crush, especially when that crush is half-naked on your couch, looking absolutely scrumptious and right out of a Male Hotties of Quidditch magazine. (Not that Regulus reads those...)

When Regulus moves to sit down, Potter grabs him suddenly by the hips, and he stumbles backwards into Potter’s lap, legs flying up. Potter’s toned arms wrap securely around his waist, steadying him. “Sirius gets the other seat,” Potter explains, and Regulus can feel him casually leaning back, relaxing again. Regulus is stiff as a board.

He can feel Potter’s crotch under his ass. Oh Merlin, he can _feel Potter’s crotch_. Regulus desperately tries not to fantasize about what Potter’s dick looks like, but he figures it’s probably big. His mouth waters at the thought. When his own trousers have something to say about that, tightening around his growing bulge, Regulus squirms uncomfortably. This makes Potter grunt, “Whoa, hey, watch what you’re doin’ there—you’re getting little James excited.” Regulus blushes furiously. He _can_ feel a bit of a tent below him. And it doesn’t feel little at all.

Mostly so it won’t be against his ass, Regulus shifts sideways in Potter’s lap. He keeps his head hung though, just in case.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. “Are you blushing?”

Regulus shakes his head. No. He’s just going to ‘watch’ some muggle whatever, and then he’s going to bed, and they’ll never talk about this again. (And he’ll jerk off while thinking about what could’ve happened, if Regulus wasn’t just Potter’s best friend’s annoying little brother, and a Slytherin and a pureblood from an ancient family, and all those things Sirius and Potter hate.) Regulus didn’t use to think he was any worse than Sirius, but after being put in Slytherin, they certainly act like he is. Sirius more so, of course. Sometimes Regulus wishes he were placed in Gryffindor, so he could go to all of Potter’s games and admire the way he rides his broom so skillfully. Sirius doesn’t appreciate Potter like Regulus would. Regulus sniffs. It isn’t fair.

“You are blushing,” Potter mumbles, and when Regulus glances up, Potter is squinting at him, smiling a bit. “C’mon, what is it? It’s New Years, Reg. Gotta’ be honest—fresh start and shit.” He stops this tirade to take a swig of beer.

He offers it to Regulus after, and Regulus shakes his head. He’s probably going to embarrass himself enough as it is. Potter shrugs and leans over Regulus to put the can down on the floor, and as Potter’s ever-so-slightly stubble-d cheek brushes past Regulus’ smooth one, Regulus shivers all over. He lets out a throaty gasp before he can stop himself. Then Potter shifts and Regulus flat out moans. He can’t help it. He can feel all of Potter’s body heat all around him, and it’s going straight to his head.

Potter doesn’t straighten back up after depositing the beer. He gets halfway before turning and studying Regulus’ face curiously, only a centimeter or two apart. It’s too close for comfort, and Regulus is beet red and bites his bottom lip. Potter’s eyes are gorgeous.

Potter lunges in to press their lips together, and Regulus is giddy with pleasure.


End file.
